


Temblor

by orchidcactus



Series: Tarradiddle [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-19
Updated: 2019-01-09
Packaged: 2019-09-22 13:58:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 12,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17061077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidcactus/pseuds/orchidcactus
Summary: temblornoun1. an earthquake.A body is discovered surrounded by strange markings; Chloe and Lucifer are tasked with solving the homicide. Meanwhile, a series of earthquakes rock the L.A. area.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! This eight-chapter story is finished and is going through beta now. The plan is to post on Tuesdays and Saturdays.
> 
> This story follows [_Malediction_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16261310) and [_Propinquity_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16746205) but can be read without too much confusion by itself.
> 
> As always, a huge thank-you to the wonderful Tarysande for the beta! <3

"A heat advisory is underway for the greater Los Angeles area." The local weathercaster gestures over the map displayed behind him. "The high-pressure system that drove temperatures up in the northwest has transitioned over the L.A. Basin. We're looking at record-breaking temperatures all this week, folks! Possible triple digits! We haven't had January temperatures this high since 1971, when daytime highs reached ninety-five degrees and—"

Chloe snaps off the TV with a click of the remote, tossing it onto the couch. When it gets this hot in L.A., things get weird. Well, she amends, weirder. Crime rates skyrocket. Violent crimes, especially. She's not looking forward to what the week could bring.

She grabs her phone and keys from the counter, calling out to Trixie. The little girl is still in her room, packing her backpack for the day.

"Come on, Trixie-babe. You'll be late for school if we don't hurry."

"Mommy, what's a high-pressure system mean?" She comes out of her room, putting on her backpack, heading for the door.

How to explain weather patterns to a nine-year-old? Chloe opens the door, and despite the hour, the sun has real heat to it. She shades her eyes against it, glancing at Trixie.

"It means the air pressure is higher, so the weather gets hotter."

"I don't like hotter weather."

"Me either, Monkey. What else it means is Mommy is going to be busy at work this week." She herds her daughter to the car, watching as Trixie buckles in. She goes around to her side of the car, opens her door, and slides behind the wheel. "But you're staying with Daddy this week, so you don't have to worry about me being late to pick you up tonight."

"Okay." Trixie nods and pulls a book out of her backpack, busying herself with it while Chloe drives.

Chloe glances at her daughter. The little girl has been the picture of adaptability, bouncing back and forth between her apartment and Dan's. Still, Chloe worries about her.

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" she says after a few miles have passed.

"I know, Mommy." She doesn't look up from her book, smiling at some passage or another. Then she thinks of something, looking at Chloe. "And you can talk to me about anything, too."

Chloe smiles. When did her little girl become so grown up?

"I know, Monkey. Thank you."

"Are you and Lucifer going to get married?"

The question is so unexpected, Chloe almost chokes. 

"Uh. What...why...?" she sputters. "Are you worried about that?"

"Not worried, Mommy."

"Why do you ask?"

"You kissed him at the ice rink. You really like him."

"I do really like him. But we're not getting married." Now, there's a can of worms. Explaining how they're lightyears from marriage, and she's not sure either of them even wants that, ever, isn't something she's willing to do with Trixie. She's not even ready to think about it, herself. Besides, Lucifer isn't the marrying kind, unless it's to a Vegas performer—who he only married because he was running scared. She cuts off that line of thinking before she goes down the rabbit hole.

"But Becca says when two people kiss and really like each other, they should get married."

Oh. That explains it. Becca is Trixie's current best friend.

"Sorry, Monkey. That's not quite how it works."

Trixie makes a little disappointed face, but she shrugs and goes back to her book. "Okay."

They reach the school and Trixie gets out after pressing a quick kiss to Chloe's cheek.

"Have fun at Daddy's," Chloe says. "Love you, Monkey."

"Love you, too, Mommy," she answers. "Have a good week. I hope you help lots of people and that it's not too busy!"

"Me, too," Chloe says, smiling as Trixie skips away.

*

Lucifer waits for her in the parking lot, leaning against the Corvette. She takes a moment to admire the view before she gets out of her car. He's all long, clean lines and expensive wool, seemingly immune to the early heat of the day. In one hand he holds a coffee cup she's sure is for her. He nods grins at her as she gets out.

"Detective," he says, holding out the paper cup as they walk toward the precinct.

"Thank you," she says, taking a sip. The blend of coffee, caramel, and almond milk hits her tongue. Perfect as always. She sighs.

"You're welcome."

He's smiling more widely than a simple thanks for coffee rates.

"You're in a good mood this morning."

"I suppose I am." Another wide grin, deepening the smile-lines at the corners of his eyes. "Lux is opening soon."

"That's great news," she says, as they reach the elevator and step in. "When is 'soon'?"

"Friday, if the estimates my contractors provided are accurate." He cuts his eyes toward her. "I hope you'll be there."

"Wouldn't miss it." She reaches out with her free hand and gives his a little squeeze. He hesitates for a second and then squeezes back. Chloe knows he's still not used to these little gestures of intimacy, that before they started—what, dating?—no one had shown him this kind of affection. Possibly … ever. Intimacy had always equaled sex, and he's uncertain when faced with something other than that. She releases his hand as the elevator doors open.

They walk to her desk, Lucifer slouching gracefully into his seat beside the desk while Chloe pulls out the rolling chair in front of the computer. There's a sticky on the desk, bearing a message from the new Lieutenant.

"'See me. Parks.'"

Dan walks by as she reads the note out loud. "You've got a case. Pretty gruesome, from what I hear."

"I'll be right back," she tells Lucifer, heading for the Lieutenant's office. She taps on the open door, waiting to be invited in.

"Decker. We had a body drop. You and your consultant are up." He picks up a file off the desk, holding it out to her.

She takes the folder, opening it, and finding only the initial call log. "Ella still at the scene?"

"If you hurry, you'll catch her there."

She turns to leave, but Parks stops her at the door.

"And Decker?"

"Yeah?"

"You'll want to use vapor rub and mask up. The vic's been deceased a while."

*

The victim lives on the second floor of an upscale apartment complex. As Chloe climbs the stairs, the distinctive odor of a body in a state of advanced decomposition hits her. She reads out of the file as she walks.

"Aaron Hutchinson, age thirty-four. Discovered by the landlord. His brother got concerned when he didn't answer the door for a few days."

"After two or three days? That's hardly time for a good party, let alone enough to become concerned."

Chloe rolls her eyes. "It says here he'd been trying to call Aaron for a week before that." She frowns at the file. "Crap."

"What?"

"There are 'satanic markings' around the body."

Lucifer's good cheer melts away. "Bloody hell, not this again."

They reach the second floor; a uniformed officer stands in front of apartment 2A with a clipboard. A box of masks and a jar of vapor rub sit by his feet. With the door open, the smell of decomp is stronger, almost overpowering.

Chloe signs Lucifer and herself in, then stoops to gather a mask and the vapor rub. Dabbing some under her nose, she offers the jar to Lucifer. She gets a glare in response.

"Fine. Suit yourself," she says.

"I assure you, I've smelled worse."

It's probably a fair point. Other than brimstone and ash, she has no clue how Hell smells. It wouldn't surprise her if entire sections of the place were devoted to ungodly—no pun intended—smells.

She puts her mask on, the mentholated fumes from the vapor rub burning her nose.

The uni gestures into the apartment. "Victim is in the kitchen. Oh. The air conditioning has been off."

The smell alone could have guided her. Even with the mask trapping the vapor rub fumes and blocking some of the odor, she can smell the body. She walks into the kitchen and almost gags. The smell is intense in here; it assaults her like a physical presence. The heat is oppressive inside the apartment. She fights the urge to press her hand to her mouth.

The entire floor of the kitchen is covered in what she can only describe as runes. Complex designs spread away from the body in a slow spiral. The dark red color of the markings reminds her of dried blood, but she tries not to assume. When the laboratory results come back, they'll know for sure.

She scowls at designs. The last time they'd run into something like this, it had been the summoning circles while she'd been cursed.

She glances at Lucifer. He's staring at the runes, frown creasing his brow. He doesn't look happy, either, as though the markings have personally offended him. Maybe he's thinking the same thing she is.

Ella works at taking pictures of the body, mask hiding the lower half of her face. Little yellow evidence triangles mark where she's found something of interest.

"Ella, are we okay to walk in there?" Chloe eyes the runes. She doesn't want to destroy evidence.

"Totally. I have pictures of all of it."

Lucifer starts making a circuit of the kitchen, looking at the upended chairs and scattered utensils. He glances from time to time at the markings and then at the body.

The body lies on its back, spread eagle, limbs positioned like the points of a star. It's badly deformed; only the clothing holds the shape in what could be termed 'roughly human.' Its face and neck are blackened, the skin beginning to slough, and a puddle of ooze slicks the floor beside it. The hands...

"Were the hands cut off pre- or postmortem? Any sign of them?" Despite the stifling heat in the apartment, a cold chill goes through her as she walks out onto the runes. She hugs her arms to herself, chalking up her reaction to her mind playing tricks on her.

"Nope, no sign." Ella sets her camera down to lift up one of the victim's arms, pointing to the wrist. "These bad boys were lopped off after he died. Check out the ends of the arms. No bleeding."

"Mhm," Chloe agrees. "How long has he been like this?"

"With the heat and the level of decomp..." Ella tilts her head back and forth quickly, thinking. "I'd say eight days."

"Cause of death?"

"The ME will have to confirm, but I'm thinking strangulation. Look here, ligature marks." She points at faint marks on the discolored neck of the victim.

"Anything else you can tell us?"

"Aaron here isn't a small guy. Your killer is at least as big. You're most likely looking for a male perp."

"Thanks, Ella."

The forensics tech nods, picking up her camera again. "I'll have my preliminary report ready by lunchtime."

The thought of food makes Chloe's stomach roll unpleasantly. She takes one more look at the markings and walks out of the room, Lucifer beside her. She pulls off her mask, using it to wipe away the vapor rub.

"Lucifer," she says as they make their way downstairs, "please, _please_ tell me that wasn't another summoning circle or a curse we just walked into."

His frown hasn't eased. "I'm not Google for the paranormal, Detective."

They reach the car, Chloe unlocking her side and sliding behind the wheel. As Lucifer gets in, she knows she needs to ask something that will only irritate him more.

"Did it look like Satanism?"

As predicted his frown deepens. "If I thought it was some misguided attempt to appeal to me, I would have said so."

Right.

They ride in silence, the noise of the road and traffic and the chatter of the police radio the only sounds in the car.

Lucifer blows out a breath. "Apologies, Detective. I believe I have an inkling of what those runes are, but I'm unable to translate. It's an annoyance."

"They are runes, then." She'd been right. She flicks her eyes his way. "You know what they are?"

"Possibly. I believe they're an ancient Grecian runic system."

"Another curse?" she asks, heart rate picking up.

"No. A spell of sorts. Again, I'm unable to translate. It vexes me."

"It's okay. I'm worried, too."

They stop at a traffic light and at first Chloe thinks a strange gust of wind hit the car, because it rocks slightly. The traffic light sways. Then she realizes the palm trees beside the road are trembling in a way that has nothing to do with wind.

"Earthquake," Lucifer observes.

"Not even a 5.0," she replies, as the light changes to green, and she presses the gas. "Second one this week, though." Changing the subject back to the case, she says, "We'll have to look at Aaron's financials."

"Bloody paperwork." He looks like he'd rather be back examining the corpse.

"It solved the last case."

"I recall. That doesn't mean I enjoy it."

"We'll take it to my apartment, do it over some wine." She doesn't look at him, keeping her eyes on the road. "Trixie's at Dan's this week."

There's a long moment of silence.

"Are you trying to tempt the Devil, Detective?"

She shrugs, trying—and failing miserably, she's sure—for nonchalant.

"Maybe I am."

He leans across the seat, so his breath is hot against her ear. She shivers before she can stop herself.

"Very well, I accept."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, I got behind with the updates--the holiday sucked up all of my free time. Hopefully, we won't have any more bumps in the Tuesday/Saturday schedule.

Chloe really likes making out with Lucifer Morningstar. That's what she thinks as he kisses the tender spot of skin beneath her ear. His hands are in her hair, and her head is tilted back to give him better access. He sucks gently, not enough to leave a mark, but enough that she shivers in delight. Then he nips, teeth scraping a line down the column of her throat to her collarbone. 

Her hands are busy trying to undo his vest.

"Why so many buttons?" she complains.

He laughs in reply, mouth warm on her skin. He sits back enough to kiss the corner of her mouth, lowering his hands to help with the vest.

"Do you need assistance, darling?"

"No, no I got it," she says, swatting at his hands. She manages the last two buttons with a smirk.

"Hmm." He all but purrs. "I see."

She pushes the vest from his shoulders, and he shrugs elegantly so it slides partway off, trapping his arms against his sides. Chloe takes advantage of this to kiss his throat in the same place he had on her, gently biting her way down his throat. She's gratified to see his reaction is equal to what hers had been.

He sucks in a breath and lets it shudder out slowly, and Chloe feels a strange sense of pride. He's had God knows how many partners and she's able to affect him like this, with something as simple as kissing his neck.

"What?" he asks.

"What?" she echoes.

"You're smiling."

She is. 

"You make me happy," she tells him and kisses him on the mouth before he can reply. He returns the kiss, tongue darting out, and she meets it with her own. He apparently manages to free his arms because one hand settles above her hip, on the curve of her waist, and the other cups her cheek.

She puts her hands on his chest. He's hot to the touch. She runs her hands over his shirt, enjoying the slide of the fine cloth and firm muscle under her palms.

Her phone rings. She lets it go to voicemail.

She maps the feel of his shoulders, his arms, his chest. She tangles her fingers in his hair, knowing how it will look when she's done.

Her phone rings again and she groans, pulling away from him. She takes a second to appreciate how thoroughly kissed he looks, with his rumpled shirt and his hair perfectly mussed and his slightly befuddled expression. She's sure she looks the same.

"This had better be important." She checks the number and sighs. "It's work. The lieutenant."

"Of bloody course it is," he grouses, pressing a quick kiss against her jawline.

She smiles at him and taps the 'answer' icon.

"Decker," she says.

"Got another body."

Shit. 

"Same as the first one; no hands. Markings on the ground around the body."

 _Shit_.

"If the press gets a hold of this, they're going to start screaming Satanic serial killer. I want you on it tonight. I don't care about the overtime." He rattles off an address downtown.

"Understood. On my way."

*

L.A. at night can be a beautiful place, Chloe thinks. 

She and Lucifer ride in a glass elevator to the top floor of the Hockler & Stein Financial Building. Chloe leans against the glass watching the city fall away below. The lights from buildings and signage blink and twinkle and shine. The sky above is a purplish black; the only stars that shine here are the ones in neon. From here, she can see Lux, gleaming white in the distance.

"If it wasn't so hot, it would be a pretty night," she comments. They'd ridden over with the air conditioning running in the car. She isn't sure how Lucifer can stand to be dressed in layers of wool. Then again, he's the Devil. He can probably take a little heat.

He stares off in the distance, at Lux.

"Looking forward to opening night?"

"Yes, I am." He turns his head. "You're still planning on attending, yes?"

"Of course I am."

The elevator stops, and they get off into a corridor with a polished marble floor and pale green walls. A uniformed officer waits for them at a doorway leading to the roof access.

"Body's on the roof." He looks a little pale. "It's been up there all day. The birds have been at it."

"Is our forensics tech here yet?" Chloe asks.

"She got here twenty minutes ago."

"Thanks," Chloe says, pulling on a pair of nitrile gloves.

She opens the access door, climbing the stairs to the roof. At the top of the stairs is a heavy steel door. The hinges squeal when she swings it open to the rooftop. 

The rooftop is typical of L.A. Concrete with a tarred roof topped with gravel. A billboard rises above them at one end. Giant heating and cooling units stand sentinel. Pigeons coo and flap on their roosts. In the middle of the roof, halogen lights have been set up around the body.

As they step onto the rooftop, the collected heat of the day washes over Chloe in a wave. The lights are bright enough that she shields her eyes as she walks toward the body. Just as with Aaron Hutchinson, this body lies spread-eagle in the midst of a field of runes. The gravel had been swept away to accommodate them; the dark red writing is barely visible against the tar.

Chloe walks up to Ella; stepping on the runes isn't any more pleasant here than it had been in the apartment. Her grandfather used to say, when he got the shivers, that it felt like a goose walked over his grave; that seems fitting here.

The body is in better shape than Aaron had been, except it's been in the hot sun all day, in the middle of L.A.'s worst January heat wave. Chloe swallows hard when she sees what the birds have done to his face.

"Hey, Ella. This what it looks like?"

"If it looks like a copy of the other one, then, yeah. It's totally what it looks like. COD is the same, too. He was strangled to death." The tech is taking trace evidence off of the victim's clothes with clear tape.

"Shit. We have a serial killer on our hands."

Lucifer snorts. "Or lack of hands."

"Funny. Because he's missing his hands," Chloe deadpans, rolling her eyes. She turns back to Ella. "Any sign of them? Or is it like the other body?"

"Looks like the killer took them with him."

"Time of death?" Chloe asks.

"Liver temp suggests he's been dead twelve hours."

"Any ID on him?"

"Nope. Right now this poor guy is a John Doe. With his face the way it is and no fingerprints, he might stay this way."

"Only until we catch the perp," Chloe says, peeling off her gloves. "Let us know if you find anything interesting."

Ella nods, going back about examining the body.

Chloe gestures to Lucifer, and they start for the metal door. She glances at him as they walk down the stairs.

"Can you reach out to your … contacts about those markings?"

"I'm _persona non grata_ with the community at the moment, but..."

"But?" She opens the door at the bottom of the stairs and they walk to the elevator.

He sighs, the sound long and reluctant. He looks out at the nighttime cityscape through the glass.

"I could likely persuade an old acquaintance to examine the markings. It may take a few days to contact her; after her sister died, she became something of a recluse."

"Why do I get the feeling I won't like meeting this friend?" She presses the button for the parking garage level.

"Acquaintance."

"Whatever. Should I be worried?"

"Don't worry, Detective, I'll be with you."

"Not inspiring confidence, Lucifer."

They're almost to the parking garage when the glass around them suddenly trembles. Chloe feels the elevator sway slightly, a quick motion back and forth. Then the floor drops six inches beneath her, and she stumbles and falls, landing hard on her hip. Her head connects with the glass wall with a resounding crack.

"Detective!" Lucifer has managed to keep his feet, somehow, and is bracing himself against one of the walls. He rushes to kneel down at her side.

The elevator continues to rock, gradually slowing. The doors open as they reach the parking garage. The sound of car alarms fills the air, making her wince. Her head feels like it's coming apart at the seams.

"'m, okay," she mutters, putting a hand to her head. It comes away clean; no blood, but she's going to have a hell of a lump. "Help me up?"

Lucifer stands and helps her to feet, putting one arm around her shoulders to steady her.

"Come on, darling," he says, guiding her out of the elevator, over to the car. She limps as she walks, her hip screaming in pain. She leans against the car heavily. Lucifer's face is pinched in worry.

"I'm really okay. I have a hard head."

The joke breaks some of the tension. He smiles tentatively. "So I've noticed. You're also limping."

"Yeah. Hit my hip pretty hard."

"Right. We'll get you to hospital—"

"No. I don't need to go to the hospital. I'm fine. Just bruised."

He looks like he might argue the point. 

"Really, Lucifer. I'm fine," she repeats.

"Very well," he relents, finally. "But I'm driving."

*

They make it back to her apartment shortly before midnight. After pressing him against the car and giving him a kiss—or two or three—to prove that she really is okay, Chloe lets Lucifer walk her to her door.

"See? I made it," she says, as she walks stiffly to the top of the stairs.

"Were you expecting a delivery tonight?"

"What?" she asks, following his finger as he points.

There's a package on her front doorstep.

She limps forward, looking down at it. It's a small cardboard box, about the size of a toaster. It bears the label of a local courier service, but there's no return address on it. Chloe is immediately suspicious.

"What are you—"

Lucifer reaches down and picks it up before she can stop him. Nothing happens. He shakes the box and she hears something inside roll and thump against the sides.

She gives him an exasperated look. 

"Shaking it. Not good. Just bring it inside," she says, unlocking her front door, swinging it open. Lucifer walks inside and sets the box on the kitchen counter. Chloe closes and locks the door, leaving her boots on for once. She reaches into her pocket and pulls out gloves.

Taking a knife from the block on the counter, she slits the tape holding the box closed. She cautiously opens the flaps. There's wadded up newspaper on top; she picks it out. 

Under it is a severed hand.

She flinches back reflexively, then leans forward to examine the hand more closely. It's clenched in a fist, and she can see something in its grasp, white end poking out between finger and thumb. A piece of paper. She takes out her cell phone, snapping a picture of it. Then she reaches into the box, careful not to touch the hand. Slowly, she pulls on the paper, drawing it out of hand's grip, trying not to tear it.

It comes free with a soft whisper of sound.

She unfolds it on the counter. There are words printed on it, in bold capital letters.

TOO LATE.

"Too late?" Lucifer says. "Too late for what?"

"Saving this person, maybe." 

"More importantly, this lunatic knows where you live and when you left. He was watching you, Detective."

"I know." She shakes her head, the long day leaving her tired and frustrated. She picks up her phone again. "I have to call this in, get forensics on it right away, find out which victim this goes to. With any luck, it's our John Doe's."

Dispatch promises to send unis to pick up the hand. Chloe places the note and the crumpled paper back into the box, folding the top down. She sets the whole thing by the door.

"You can go," she tells Lucifer. "I'm just going to nap on the couch until the unis show."

"I bloody well cannot. Not with that maniac still out there." He gestures at the door, as though the maniac in question is lurking just outside.

"I can protect myself, Lucifer." She's not some damsel in distress.

"I know," he says, simply. His expression says he'll go if she asks again. "I would still like to stay."

"Oh," she says. "Okay. Please stay, then."

They go to the living room, and Lucifer sits at one end of the couch. 

"If you want to sleep, darling … sleep."

Chloe sits down and swings her feet up on the couch, away from him. Then she lies down with her head on his leg. He immediately starts running his fingers through her hair, tugging at the strands lightly.

"Feels nice," she says, around a yawn.

"Go to sleep, Chloe," he says. Then softer, so softly she barely hears him, "I'll watch over you."


	3. Chapter 3

Chloe wakes with a pillow under her head, an afghan over her, and the smell of coffee and breakfast filling the air. Sunshine pours in through the windows. She sits up groggily. Lucifer is in the kitchen, cooking.

"What time is it?" she asks, covering a wide yawn with her hand. Hand. Oh, shit. "Did the unis come for—"

"Yes. They picked it up at approximately two."

"Good," she says, shuffling into the kitchen. Her hip still hurts, but it's manageable. She picks her phone up off of the counter, checking for messages. She glances at the clock. They still have time before they need to be in at the precinct. She peers down at her wrinkled clothes, and then at Lucifer's immaculate state. "I'm going to take a shower and brush my teeth."

Lucifer checks the oven. "Breakfast will be done in fifteen minutes."

"Yes, mother," she teases. She pads forward a few steps, so she can go up on her toes, and kiss him on the cheek. It's gratifying to see how he smiles at this, the corners of his eyes crinkling. It's the smile he saves just for her.

She hurries upstairs, showering and toweling off quickly. Her hip is a bloom of purple and yellow. Her head has a sore spot on it, but it doesn't hurt too badly. She dresses in her usual loose top—bullet-proof vest on underneath—and jeans.

Heading downstairs again, she's rewarded with the sight of Lucifer pulling a muffin tin out of the oven. She joins him in the kitchen, leaning against the counter to watch him work.

"Baked eggs and bacon with cheese." He tips the tin upside down over a plate and muffin-shaped whipped eggs wrapped in bacon spill out. He scoops up two with a spatula and puts them on a plate, which he passes it to Chloe. "I'd like to garnish them with fresh parsley, but..."

"I don't have fresh parsley."

She accepts her plate and, using the edge of a fork, cuts into her egg and bacon. Steam rises from the concoction. She lifts a forkful up to her mouth, blowing on it before trying it. It's a perfect combination of rich cheese, crispy bacon, and fluffy egg.

"This is really good," she says. "I'll have to make it for Trixie when she gets home."

"The child would like them," he agrees, taking a bite of his.

"I'd like to get in to work early today. Hopefully, our John Doe has an ID by now. And we have a mountain of paperwork to get caught up on."

Lucifer makes a face at the word 'paperwork,' but he doesn't protest.

"I placed a call last night," he says. "My acquaintance should receive the message soon."

"And you think she can identify the markings?"

"Possibly."

Her phone rings. Ella. Chloe puts the phone on speaker, sliding it over so it's between her and Lucifer.

"Hey, Ella. What's up?"

"Me. I came in early to work on this hand," she says. "Did I wake you up?"

"Nope. Just having breakfast."

"Okay, I have good news and bad news," Ella says.

"Start with the bad news, always."

"The hand doesn't belong to either Aaron Hutchinson or our John Doe. The blood-types don't match."

Shit. Not good. "So, there's a third victim."

"Yep. This one is really recent. That hand was fresh."

"What's the good news?" she asks.

"I got a hit from IAFIS. His prints are in the system. Our third vic is Damon Johnston."

"Good job," Chloe says.

"Thanks! That's all I have for now. Dental still hasn't come in on John Doe; hopefully, by the time you come in."

Chloe says goodbye and hangs up.

"You were awfully quiet," she says to Lucifer.

"You draw clear lines between work and affection," he says. His expression becomes serious.

"If I were worried about what Ella thought about us, I wouldn't have put it on speaker. Are you worried what people think?"

He scoffs. "Have we met? Allow me to introduce myself. I'm—"

She lifts a hand to interrupt him. "I'm not embarrassed by what we're doing. Even if we're not … you know, actually doing anything. Yet."

His serious expression is back. "Yet."

"Yeah."

"I see," he says, but it's clear he doesn't understand exactly what she's trying to say. Realization strikes her like a breathtaking flash of light. No one has ever taken things slowly with him. Before her, before this, sex had been something done in the immediacy of the moment, not something put off.

"I mean, I thought it was pretty clear … given what we've been doing." She sighs. "But apparently not."

"That is … what you truly desire?"

"Yes." She takes his hand, threading her fingers through his. "Yes. I desire to have sex with you, Lucifer. Just not yet."

"I see," he repeats. And then he kisses her, gently. "I understand."

*

She and Lucifer drive separately to the precinct, and Chloe takes the time to call Trixie.

"Hi, Mommy," she says cheerfully.

"Hi, Monkey. What are you up to?"

"Daddy's taking me to school."

Trixie then starts in on a detailed explanation about how she and her best friend Becca were going to eat lunch together and talk about movies. Chloe adds the necessary words of encouragement as they talk. She arrives at the precinct and says goodbye, smiling at the phone. She misses her daughter and is looking forward to the end of the week when she'll come home.

When Chloe arrives at her desk, Lucifer is waiting for her. A cup of coffee sits on the corner of the desk, along with a stack of case files.

"Thank you," she tells Lucifer, picking up the coffee. She taps the case files. "Conference room and the whiteboard so I can diagram this? I think better with visual aids."

Lucifer scoops up the folders, and they walk into the conference room. Chloe sets her coffee down and takes the top folder from Lucifer.

"Aaron Hutchinson." She opens the folder and pulls out a picture of Aaron's badly decomposed corpse. She tapes it to the whiteboard and writes his name underneath. She does the same with John Doe and Damon Johnston's hand. Then she writes the location where each body was found, with a question mark for Damon.

"The markings." She puts a picture of them up in a separate column.

"Runes. I'm certain of that much."

"Right. Runes."

Next, she picks up a map of Los Angeles, and tapes that to the board, setting about circling the locations where the two bodies were found.

"Here's the apartment where Aaron was found. And the financial building where John Doe was left." She taps the circles she's drawn. "Nothing in common between the two locations. No sign of a break-in at Aaron's. If John Doe was murdered somewhere else, that's a hell of a long way to carry a body without anyone noticing."

"You're considering the possibility they knew the murderer."

"Yeah, I am. I'll have to check with Ella about where John Doe was killed, but I'm willing to bet it was on that rooftop. Someone he trusted led him up there."

"This would mean there's a possibly a link between them."

"It would," Chloe says. She taps the folders with a finger. "We'll likely find that in here."

Lucifer's phone rings. "Ah. Saved by the bell, as it were."

He pulls his phone out and looks at the number.

"Excuse me, Detective." He stands and walks out of the conference room.

Chloe sighs and opens the first folder, starting through the stack of Damon Johnston's bank statements she finds there. She's barely through the first page when Ella comes in holding a sheet of paper.

"Hey, Chloe. Two things. John Doe's dental records came back. I was able to find a match in Missing Persons and get an ID on him." She hands the paper to Chloe.

"That's great!" She takes the paper and reads through the particulars. "John Doe's real name is John Lucas."

She adds the name to the whiteboard and looks back at Ella. "And the other thing?"

"The markings around the bodies are written in blood—not human, though. My best guess is pig's blood. Still pretty gruesome."

Chloe agrees with a nod, updating the whiteboard with the pertinent information.

"I had a question about John Lucas," Chloe asks.

"Shoot."

"Did he die on the rooftop, or was he killed somewhere else?"

"My good friend livor mortis says that he was killed up there on the roof."

"That was my theory, too."

Lucifer comes in again, sliding his phone back into his jacket. "That was my acquaintance. I've set up a meeting with her this evening."

"Good," Chloe says.

"Ooh, a secret evening meeting with 'acquaintances,'" Ella says, fingers making air quotes.

"It's no secret, Ms. Lopez. She's a monster, a—"

"Friend," Chloe interrupts.

Lucifer gives her a patented 'no one will believe me anyway' look.

"Man," Ella says, walking to the door. "You never break character, do you?"

As soon as she leaves, Chloe turns to Lucifer.

"A monster?"

He shrugs. "She can also be quite lovely."

Lieutenant Parks taps on the door, walking in. He stops in front of the whiteboard, glancing at it before looking at Chloe and Lucifer.

"The body of Damon Johnston was discovered twenty minutes ago. The press has ahold of it now. Somebody leaked photos. Expect reporters at the scene."

*

Reporters flock to Chloe's car as she pulls up to the warehouse where Damon Johnston's body was found. She frowns out her window at them. She doesn't remember a time when reporters were a good thing.

"Detective?" Lucifer asks. "Are you quite all right?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. They just … get to me."

"Shall I take the lead, this once?"

She considers the offer. Almost accepts it.

"No, I can do this." Swinging her door open, she gets out of the car quickly, slamming the door closed again.

The reporters immediately start yammering at her, asking for details about the murders.

"This is the third murder like this! What is the LAPD doing to catch the perpetrator?"

"Has the LAPD attempted to cover up proof this is a serial killer at work?"

"Detective!" one of them shouts. "Any comment on the Handyman?"

She doesn't answer. Her teeth grind as she sets her jaw. Of course they've given the killer a stupid name.

Lucifer comes around the front of the car to join her. He touches her arm. He's tall enough he can see over the crowd.

"That way, Detective," he murmurs in her ear, pointing.

She starts pushing her way through the reporters, Lucifer on her heels. When she breaks free of them, they trail behind her still calling out. She spots a uniformed officer guarding a door and makes a beeline for him. He opens the door for her, blocking the reporters with a sharp gesture.

"The Handyman? Terrible name," Lucifer says as the door closes behind them.

Chloe snorts. "It'll stick, though."

The warehouse is mostly empty; a few large wooden crates are stacked at one end, with a forklift sitting parked beside them. The floor is clean and polished, and their reflections precede them like strange, wavering ghosts.

Sunlight streams through windows high on the walls. A beam of light falls on the corpse. As Chloe anticipates, it's positioned like a star, surrounded by runes in a spiral. The runes have dried to their usual dark color, and in the sunlight, they seem to drink up the light. An illusion, Chloe's sure.

Ella's not at the scene yet, so she and Lucifer stay outside of the spiral. Chloe puts on her gloves and crouches beside the runes, touching one with a fingertip. The familiar shiver of the goose walking over her grave runs up her spine.

"Do you feel something when you touch the runes? A cold shiver?" she asks Lucifer.

He nods. "It is magic, Detective. Its power has been spent, but enough remains to affect us."

"I wonder if anyone else feels it."

"Doubtless. But how would you have reacted a few short months ago?"

"I would have explained it away." She had been so clueless, even with Lucifer constantly telling her the way things really were.

He allows the truth of her statement with a not unkind smile, and Chloe wonders how he puts up with it, the constant denial of everyone around him.

The door across the warehouse opens then, and Chloe hears the reporters bombarding someone else with questions. Ella walks in, looking over her shoulder as the door closes again.

"Boy, they're a little like vultures on a fresh carcass, aren't they?" she says, walking across the warehouse. She carries her camera and forensics kit with her. She looks at the body as she gets closer. "Not that you're a carcass, buddy."

"Speaking of the deceased, we could use a time of death on him."

"On it," Ella says, putting her kit down to start taking pictures of the spiral, working her way inward until she reaches the body. She retrieves her kit, and after making a small incision in the body's abdomen, she inserts the probe. After a short time, she reads it. "Nine o'clock last night, give or take an hour."

"So, while we were at the other crime scene. Our perp's timeline has sped up. There was a week between the first and second murders and only a day between the second and third."

Which means they're potentially looking at another murder today. Chloe pulls her gloves off with a snap.

"We need to figure this out," she says.


	4. Chapter 4

"How much time do we have before we go meet this 'acquaintance' of yours?" Chloe asks as she and Lucifer walk into the precinct, heading for the conference room.

"Several hours," he answers, taking his flask out. "Several hours of scouring over paperwork, I presume?"

"You're catching on," she says, nodding at the stacks of folders. "We've been so busy going to crime scenes, we haven't had time to go over financials or phone records or—"

"I understand, Detective." He drinks from the flask as though to fortify himself, twists the cap back on, and slides it into his jacket. "I much prefer doing this in your apartment."

Chloe smiles at him. "With wine."

"Among other incentives, yes," he says with a smirk.

She can't help it if her smile widens. "I prefer those incentives, myself."

She takes a seat at the table, accidentally choosing Aaron Hutchinson's folder off of the top of the pile; she'd already started on Damon Johnston's file earlier in the day. Opening it, she's annoyed when she discovers her mistake; she goes to put it back when she notices something.

"You have John Lucas' folder?"

"Yes. He's quite the boring chap. A big expenditure for him is splurging on coffee every morning. At the Morning Buzz, no less."

"Check his deposits. Where does he work?"

Lucifer leafs through a few pages before running his finger down one. "The County of Los Angeles made biweekly deposits."

"Same here. All three victims worked for the county."

"Well done, Detective."

"It's a big county, with a lot of departments. We need to find out exactly where they worked," she says. "Let's stop by Aaron Hutchinson's home on our way to our appointment."

"Very well, but we're taking the Corvette."

"Why?"

"Because … your car will attract unwanted attention for my acquaintance. I would prefer arriving in something that doesn't scream 'cop.'"

*

Aaron Hutchinson lived in a small, red-brick cottage with his wife, Amy. Chloe knocks on the door with a heavy heart. Death notifications have already been done for all three victims, but interrupting grieving family members was never easy.

A petite woman with brown hair cut in a bob answers the door. Her eyes are red and swollen; she holds a tissue in one hand and sniffs as the door cracks open.

"Amy Hutchinson? I'm Chloe Decker with the LAPD. I'd like to talk to you about your husband."

"Okay." She swings the door open a bit further, but makes no move to invite them in. "I already told the officers everything I could about Aaron. Who he was friends with. Who he didn't get along with. If he'd been acting strangely lately."

"I know, but I have a question that wasn't covered when they talked to you."

"What?"

"Where did he work?"

"That's it?" she asks, gesturing impatiently. "He works—worked—for LACMA."

"LACMA?"

"Los Angeles County Museum of Art. Is that all?"

"Yes, thank you. And I'm so sorry—"

Amy shuts the door with a decisive thump, and Chloe blows out a breath. Never easy.

She and Lucifer walk back to the car, Lucifer sliding in behind the wheel, Chloe seating herself in the passenger side. It's been a while since she has ridden in the Corvette, and as they head onto the freeway, she tips her head back and lets the evening air wash over her face.

Lucifer is strangely quiet. Normally, he has some comment about something, but tonight he just drives in silence. He doesn't turn on the radio and tap his fingers in time to the music, either, only stares at the road ahead of them.

"Penny for your thoughts," Chloe says.

He starts, as though he had been deep in thought. "Apologies, Detective. You were saying?"

If she didn't know better, she'd say he was nervous about meeting this woman. Whoever she was, clearly, she was out of the ordinary.

"Just wondered what you were thinking."

"That I should have come alone."

She frowns and he holds up a hand to placate her.

"I know, you are more than capable of defending yourself. Against mortal foes."

"You think she's going to attack us?" Chloe asks. "What is she?"

"Euryale is a monster, Detective. A good, old-fashioned one. Right from the history books. But she won't harm us if we're careful."

The name he uses means nothing to her, but anyone Lucifer considers a monster should be taken seriously.

"So she might hurt us if we're careless."

He nods, slowly. "If I were by myself I would be immune to her powers."

"There's still time to drop me off at the apartment." She admits to herself that she'll be a little stung if he agrees.

"No," he says. "She wants to meet you."

Great. Just peachy.

*

As they drive, Chloe realizes they're moving up the zip code ladder. Right to the 90210 rung. She really shouldn't be surprised, given who Lucifer is, by him having super-wealthy acquaintances. She watches as they pass gated driveways leading to mansions that dwarf her entire apartment complex.

They pull into one such driveway, and Lucifer stops in front of an ornate, wrought-iron gate. The driveway winds away from the gate, disappearing behind a thicket of large palm trees; the house is hidden from view.

Lucifer gets out of the Corvette and walks up to the speaker beside the gate. He presses the buzzer and then puts his hands in his pockets.

Chloe hears an indistinct voice answer. Lucifer replies. It's not in English, and she doesn't recognize the language. He exchanges a few more comments with the voice, looking back at Chloe once, as though to confirm she's still sitting there. She gives him a small wave.

He comes back to the car and slides behind the wheel again. The gate starts to open, sliding to one side.

"What language was that?" Chloe asks, curiosity getting the better of her.

"Greek. A misplaced dialect." He shifts the car into gear, driving forward as the gate opens completely.

"That you just happen to speak."

"I speak every language, Detective."

"Every language."

"Yes. Sin knows no language barrier."

Just when she thinks she has a handle on being surprised by him, Lucifer pulls the rug out from under her again. She resists—barely—the urge to ask him to speak in different languages for her.

They follow the curving road through the palms. The grounds are perfectly groomed, with emerald green grass spreading in all directions. Small shrubs dot the landscape, and flowering plants provide pops of red and yellow. Birds flit between the shrubs and trees, defining the edges of their territories with quiet evening songs.

The road makes a sharp turn, and the house appears before them. Except house is too simple a word. Mansion doesn't describe it either. Chloe isn't sure what she expected the house to look like, but it isn't this.

It's a castle. A red brick castle. Complete with turrets and ivy growing up the sides and a wall running around it. A gate with an actual portcullis stands guard in front of the interior courtyard. Lucifer pulls up to the grating. A smaller door sits to the left.

"We walk from here," he says.

Chloe nods, picking up the stack of photos she's brought with her. She follows Lucifer in through the smaller door, which creaks on its hinges as he pushes it open.

She finally notices something. "No security."

"Euryale needs none. I have little sympathy for thieves, but those that break into her home deserve some small measure of pity."

They walk across the small room formed by the wall, through another doorway, and into the stone softly lit courtyard. Which is filled with statues. Chloe doesn't know much about art, but she thinks they're all Greek antiquities. Beautiful, intricate, white-marble antiquities. Men and women and animals, all caught in various poses. In the middle of them stands a life-sized replica of a winged horse, and beside it, a beautiful young man.

"They're … gorgeous," she says, reaching out to touch the horse's wing, wanting to feel the smooth marble beneath her fingertips. Lucifer catches her by the wrist.

"I wouldn't," he says. He doesn't release her until she nods.

The castle's main residence towers above them. It, too, is constructed out of the same red brick as the wall; it, too, is covered in ivy. Stained glass windows decorate its front, and candlelight is visible as they walk up. The door is solid wood with iron strapping; a knocker in the shape of a gargoyle sits in the middle of it.

Lucifer grips the knocker and thumps on the door. The sound echoes sharply through the courtyard. The statues that seemed beautiful just moments before now seem slightly eerie, almost as though they've turned to watch them.

The door swings halfway open. No one greets them. Silence fills the courtyard; even the birds have fallen silent. Lucifer reaches in and pushes the door all of the way open, hand splayed against the wood. The interior of the room beyond is dark, lit only by a few flickering candles.

Chloe resists the urge to unclip the holster of her Glock.

Lucifer walks in, moving slowly into the dark room. Chloe follows, knowing his speed is to accommodate her eyesight. He can see perfectly well in the low light.

The room is a foyer, of sorts; a large cavern of a space. She sees a movement to her right and pivots toward it, hand automatically dropping to her sidearm. She blinks. Realizes the movement has mimicked hers.

"It's a mirror," she whispers. "They're all mirrors." All along the wall and set in the middle of the room are mirrors of every shape and size, some as small as her hand, some large enough she couldn't span them with her arms stretched wide. They reflect her and Lucifer in ghostly images.

"Yes, Euryale is fond of mirrors. For good reason," he says. "Come along. She favors the rear garden for receiving guests."

He leads the way through the foyer, and then down a long hall, empty except for more mirrors. In the dim light, she startles herself in a mirror twice more. Lucifer steadies her with a hand on the small of her back both times.

Corridors branch off from the hall, branching again and again, and Lucifer takes turn after turn, as though he knows exactly where he's going. Chloe's glad of it; she's already hopelessly turned around.

Finally, they come to a set of French doors leading into a small garden space. Flowering shrubs and bushes crowd the space. A variety of trees, some that are strangely exotic, loom over them. In the middle of the garden sits a fountain with a mermaid spraying water into a pool of water where goldfish swim. The air is humid with the smell of growing and flowering things. The only light comes from a few candles set strategically on small tables throughout the garden.

More mirrors, most full-length, are spaced out at regular intervals, their faces pointing this way and that.

"Euryale?" Lucifer calls out. The garden seems to swallow the sound.

Chloe sees a flicker of movement in one of the mirrors and almost dismisses it as her reflection until she realizes she hasn't moved.

"Lucifer," she whispers, pointing. The image in the mirror is distorted. A reflection of a reflection of a reflection.

"Stay here," he says. Her knee-jerk reaction is _hell, no_ will she stay put. When she actually _thinks_ , her response is to do what she's told in the home of a monster. She knows when she's out of her element.

Lucifer walks forward, carefully, so very slowly. He stops in front of a particularly large mirror that catches another mirror in an infinity effect. Then he waits, gazing into the mirror.

The sound of falling water is the only noise Chloe hears. She stares into first one mirror, then another. Finally, she sees movement again: a fleeting glimpse of a woman's dress and long legs.

"Lucifer," a strange voice says. It has an echoing quality, like church bells rung in the distance. Then it says something else in that strange language Lucifer identified as a lost dialect of Greek.

The woman moves again, and this time Chloe catches sight of a bare shoulder and arm before it vanishes once more.

Euryale speaks again in that lost language and Lucifer answers. His laughter is unexpected, rich and rolling through the garden. Then he looks over his shoulder at Chloe and smiles sweetly.

Another flash of movement. This time Chloe is sure she sees wings. Not wings like Lucifer's, but bare, like a bat's. Wings long enough they drag the ground behind their owner. She suppresses a shudder.

"English, please," Lucifer says, looking back at the mirror. "The Detective doesn't speak your tongue."

"English? How very New World of you." Euryale laughs, and this echoes like her voice does. "I heard what you did to poor Paimon. How naughty of you. I'm sure I shouldn't even be talking to you."

Word in the supernatural community must get around, Chloe thinks.

"I didn't cause him any lasting harm."

More of that strange laughter.

"So, this is her. The one that makes the Devil bleed."

There's an amusement to the words that unsettles Chloe as much as the words do.

Lucifer's eyes narrow, his good humor evaporating.

"Yes."

"Oh, don't pout, love. It's not common knowledge. Well, not too common. I just know more than most."

Chloe's had enough of the silent treatment. She holds up the photos she brought. "We brought some photos for you to look at. Can you help us or not?"

"Right to the point. I see why you're taken with her, Lucifer. She's quite lovely," Euryale says. "Come closer, so—"

"No!" Lucifer snaps. "Stay there, Chloe."

The use of her name makes her freeze.

"You worry too much," Euryale says. "I won't harm her. I swear."

"Is that what you told Perseus?"

"Playing dirty, love? That is so like you."

Chloe has had enough of this woman. "Can you help us or not?"

"Very well. Lucifer, bring me the photographs."

Lucifer walks back to Chloe quickly, holding his hand out for the photos. Chloe doesn't give them up immediately.

"What is going on here? What's with the mirrors?" she hisses.

"I'll explain later."

"Fine, but it had better be a good explanation, none of your … obfuscation." She holds out the photos, letting him take them from her.

He walks back to the mirror, staring into it.

"Oh, no," Euryale says. "That won't do. Bring them to me."

Lucifer's eyes narrow again, but he turns away from the mirror. He lowers his eyes, looking at the ground.

The images in the mirrors shift, and suddenly Chloe can see Euryale's face in one reflection. She's gorgeous. Fine bone structure and dark skin and thickly corded hair. Chloe watches, fascinated, as Euryale stretches her arm out, waiting.

Lucifer shuffles forward, and Chloe realizes he's closed his eyes tightly. He holds the photos out in front of himself, extending them with a stiff arm.

Euryale laughs. "She really does make you vulnerable, doesn't she? I wasn't sure if the rumor was true … but this..." Another laugh, and Chloe wants nothing more than to punch her smug face.

Chloe notices movement beside—around—Euryale's dark face. Her hair is moving. Who the hell is this woman, this monster?

Euryale reaches out so Chloe can see just her arm, her real arm, not a reflection, and takes the photos from Lucifer. Chloe doesn't miss the way Euryale runs a finger over Lucifer's wrist and hand first.

Then the arm disappears behind a mirror again, and with a flash of featherless wings, Euryale steps out of view.

"I see. This is powerful magic. An ancient spell."

Lucifer has backed away; he's standing in front of the mirror he started at.

"So we discerned," he says. "We need to know what the spell does."

"And in return?" Euryale asks. "What do I get?"

Lucifer hesitates. He glances at Chloe. His expression is unreadable.

"A favor," he says. "From the Devil."

Chloe feels her stomach lurch. She would have never asked that of him. She wants to shout that it's too much, that he should retract the offer, but she knows it's already too late.

"Oh, now that … that I will take." Her reflection appears again, and she's leafing through the photos. "This is a nasty, evil spell. I should almost do this for free, but..."

"Just tell us."

"It requires six sacrifices to be complete."

"And?"

"It causes—" and the words she uses are in that foreign tongue.

"Lucifer?" Chloe asks. "Translation?"

"It causes the earth to shake," he says. He pivots to walk toward her without another look at Euryale. "Earthquakes, Detective."

Shit, shit, shit. The earthquakes they've had this week haven't been a weird coincidence, they'd been caused deliberately. By magic. Consider the rug full and truly jerked.

Euryale calls out. "Wait. The runes speak of looking to the center."

The center. The center of what? But Lucifer isn't stopping to ask, and Chloe can't blame him. She wants to leave—to run—from Euryale.

"You won't forget our deal, Lucifer?" Euryale's voice echoes through the garden.

"My word is my bond," he grits out, reaching for Chloe's arm, almost pulling her along as he marches from the garden.

They walk through the main part of the castle, Lucifer leading the way so quickly Chloe nearly has to jog to keep up. When they reach the foyer again, stepping out of the dim light into the brighter illumination of the courtyard, she pulls her arm out of his and stops.

"Who the hell was that?"

"A monster. I told you!"

"What, exactly, is she?"

He cuts his eyes away and back again.

"A gorgon."

A gorgon. Gears turn in her mind, creaking over memories. She knows what a gorgon is, it's...

"A gorgon like in _Clash of the Titans_? That gorgon? Wait. The moving hair. Perseus. The stone Pegasus. We were just talking to _Medusa_?"

"Medusa was her sister. She was slaughtered." He gestures at the forest of statues around them. "But they have a great deal in common."

"You said she could be quite lovely. Exact words."

"You saw her. She is exquisite. And when I'm alone, and at my full powers, she is far more polite. I think she's a bit of an exhibitionist." He pauses. "We got the information we came for, Detective."

"Let's go," she says. "I've had enough of Greek myths for one day."


	5. Chapter 5

Lucifer drives her home.

They should have kissed against the Corvette. They should have stumbled up her stairs, hands all over each other. They should have ended up on the couch, where finally Chloe would get his shirt off and maybe hers, too. They should have kissed hard enough their teeth clicked together. Maybe he unhooks her bra. Maybe she loosens his belt. Maybe the rest of their clothes come off. Maybe they finally, _finally_ sleep together.

They do kiss against the car. They do stumble up the stairs, hands all over each other. Then Chloe trips over the box left in front of her door.

"Shit," she says, leaning against Lucifer. She uses the toe of her boot to prod the box. It's the same size as the last one left on her doorstep, bearing the label of a courier service. She feels a little sick to her stomach knowing what she'll find inside. She bends down and picks it up. It's about the right weight for a hand.

Leading the way inside she places the box on the counter and puts on a pair of gloves. Getting a pair of scissors, she opens them and uses one of the blades as a knife to slit the packing tape. There's wadded up newspaper inside. She pulls it out and stares at the pair of hands that greet her. They're clasped in a lover's grip, with fingers intertwined.

"There's a note," Lucifer says.

"Yeah, I see it," she replies. The note is held between the palms of the hands, poking up between the thumbs. She slowly pulls it free, flattening it on the counter so she can read what's printed on it.

ONE MORE

"One more? We haven't had another earthquake."

"A murder yet to occur? Euryale did say there would be six of them." His brow is furrowed in a frown.

"We have to get these hands to Ella and find out if they're from a new victim."

Lucifer tips his head toward the clock on the wall. "Look at the time, Detective. Ella is at home. Doubtless, this can wait until tomorrow."

"Fine. I'll call it in, have unis pick up the box again." She starts repacking the paper around the hands, closing the lids to the box. "I don't want this here all night."

Lucifer pulls a bottle of wine from the cupboard, raising his eyebrows at her in a question as she dials dispatch.

"Yes, please," she says. "Not the incentive I was hoping for, but it will do."

He pours two glasses. After Chloe finishes her phone call, they take them to the living room and curl up on the couch to watch TV. Reruns of a cooking show are about as much thinking as Chloe can endure tonight. During a commercial, she turns to Lucifer.

"Tomorrow we have to contact LACMA and find out if all three of our vics worked there."

"And do more bloody paperwork, no doubt."

"Yeah, there's always that."

She drains her glass of wine and holds her hand out for Lucifer's empty glass. "More?"

"Please."

She's halfway to the kitchen when the earthquake strikes. It starts with a low jolt of sound, dropping the floor out from under her. She stumbles, and another wave hits her. The wine glasses are knocked from her hand, shattering on the floor.

Chloe is a child of California. She's been taught to drop, cover, and hold on since she was little. She knows the safest way to weather an earthquake is in place, not in a doorway. She drops to the floor, curling into a ball, arms around her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

"Detective!"

She hears Lucifer through the roar of the quake. Then there's a warm presence above her as the floor shakes and dips and slams against her body. Knickknacks fall off of shelves, and dishes shoot out of the cupboards, crashing down. She hears something in the kitchen impact hard against the floor.

The earthquake rumbles on and on, and Chloe tries to make herself a smaller target, the warm weight of Lucifer's body still above her. She's starting to feel like it will never end, like the world will surely fall to pieces before it stops.

The roar begins to fade, the shaking to subside. The waves don't rock her as hard. Gradually, so very gradually, the earthquake dies. The silence that follows is only punctuated by the distant sound of car alarms.

Chloe cracks her eyes open, pulling her hands away from her head. Lucifer is levered over her, up on his arms. But that's not what catches her attention. His wings form a cocoon around them.

"Detective?" he asks. His tone is worried, eyes pinched at the corners.

"I'm okay. Bruised, but okay. I need to make sure Trixie—"

Another wave hits, and Lucifer hunkers down closer to her.

"It's okay," she says, putting a hand on his arm; his muscles bunch under her touch. "Just an aftershock."

The aftershock passes, and Chloe shifts underneath Lucifer, so she can look him in the eyes. They're dark and fathomless and oh-so-concerned.

"I think it's over. I'm okay," she repeats.

"No, you're not. You're bleeding."

She touches a hand to her face and pulls it away, hissing in pain. Her hand comes away wet, and she's aware of the trickle of blood down her temple and cheek.

"The glasses broke. I must have gotten cut on that."

He pushes himself to his knees; his wings spread wide enough to brush both walls. He offers her a hand, and she sits up. Sure enough, there's broken glass where she had been lying. The side of her face starts to burn.

Lucifer stands, and she lets him pull her to her feet. He shrugs his shoulders in a rolling motion, and his wings vanish with a rush of wind. Chloe can't help but stare; seeing proof of the divine will never become commonplace for her.

"Let me see," he says, stepping closer to her. "There's glass in it. We should get you to hospital."

"I need to make sure Trixie is okay." She pulls out her phone, ignoring the pain in her face, as she taps on the screen. The phone starts to ring on the other end. With every ring, Chloe's tension ratchets up another notch.

"Mommy?"

"Trixie! Are you okay?"

"I'm okay. I was scared, but I know what to do in earthquakes."

"Of course you do, babe," Chloe says. "I'm so, so glad you're okay. Is Daddy okay?"

"He's good, too. His house is a mess, though."

They chat for a minute more, but Chloe can feel blood trickling down her face. When it drips onto her shirt, she says goodbye to her daughter and hangs up. She turns to Lucifer.

"Does it look like it needs stitches?"

"I don't bloody know. I'm not an expert on human wounds." The worry in his expression belies the snap in his voice. He's concerned about her.

"It's okay, Lucifer." She puts a hand on his arm. "It's probably just a scratch. Head wounds bleed a lot."

She looks around at the wreckage of the apartment. She'd fared better than it had. Pictures lay on the floor along with all of her knickknacks. The TV has toppled off its stand. Books have fallen from the shelves. Cracks run up through the drywall into the ceiling.

"I'll get the first aid kit," she says. "The hospitals will have better things to do than patching me up."

She makes her way through the detritus to the bathroom, which is just as much a mess as the rest of the house. Grabbing the kit off of the floor where it had fallen from the cupboard, she heads back to the kitchen.

Lucifer has found her only bottle of whiskey, a cheap bottle of Jim Beam. He has also managed to find two intact shot glasses in the wreckage. He fills the glasses.

"Anesthetic," he says. He tosses his back, refilling it without pausing. He gives a delicate shudder. "That is truly terrible."

"Here," she says, opening the kit on the counter. She takes out a pair of tweezers and holds them out to him.

He regards them like they might bite. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't. You let me carve up your wings, for God's sake." She takes the shot he's poured for her and tips in back. The whiskey burns on the way down, and she coughs against her hand.

"Dad had nothing to do with that," he says, drinking his second shot.

"Quit being a baby."

"The Devil is not a 'baby.'" He takes the tweezers from her and gestures at a bar stool. "Sit down, please."

She obliges him, and he pulls up another stool close to her, sitting with his legs on either side of her. He leans in and takes a breath. Carefully, oh so gently, he picks a tiny fragment of glass out of her skin. He gives it a satisfied look before dropping it onto the counter.

"This one might hurt," he says, leaning in again.

Chloe feels pressure against her skin, then a sharp twinge of pain as he pulls the shard free. She lets out a breath between her teeth.

"All right?" he asks, softly.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

He repeats the process half a dozen times, checking with her periodically to make sure he's not hurting her too much. When he's done, he wipes her face with clean gauze gently, cleaning the blood from her skin.

"There," he says, pressing a butterfly bandage to the worst of the cuts.

"Thank you."

He hums a response, pouring himself another shot. Chloe motions for him to refill her glass, as well. This time when she drinks, the whiskey doesn't burn quite as much.

"You know what this means," she says. "There's been another murder. We're going to find another corpse inside of a circle of runes. We need to get in touch with LACMA and warn their employees."

"And find the perpetrator. Someone deserves, very much, to be punished."

"Yes. We need to catch whoever is responsible."

"If he's still human."

The comment catches her off-guard.

"What do you mean?"

"He's been playing with dangerous magic, Detective. Would it be any wonder if it changed him? Turned him into a monster?"

Her phone rings. Dispatch. She answers and is told that the unis sent to pick up the hands have been rerouted to help with disaster relief. She thanks the dispatcher and hangs up, glancing at Lucifer.

"No way I'm sleeping with a creepy box of hands in my house. I know it's late, but take a ride with me?"

He nods. "If we can go by Lux. I'd like to determine how much damage has been done."

"Oh, G—" she starts to say, cutting herself off. She tries again. "I forgot. You're opening tomorrow."

"Possibly." He doesn't comment on her slip, only looks around at the destruction in the apartment. "Possibly not."

"Yeah, we'll go by there after we drop off the box."

*

The earthquake has left L.A. streets a mess. Downed traffic signals and power lines, and rerouting around two collisions, mean that they don't make it to Lux until almost three in the morning.

Chloe yawns as she pulls into Lucifer's spot beneath the nightclub.

"You're exhausted, Detective. This could have been postponed."

"I'm okay." She touches his arm. "I know how important reopening is to you."

They walk to the elevator; Lucifer presses the button for the club floor and the doors close. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, then takes out his flask and takes a drink. His face is set in tense lines.

The elevator chimes as they reach the club. Chloe realizes she's holding her breath, and lets it bleed out slowly. The doors slide open.

The club looks good. Better than good. It's like the fire never happened. Lucifer's contractors have done a wonderful job restoring it. Best of all, Chloe doesn't notice any structural damage from the earthquake.

The lights flicker. With the downed lines, it doesn't surprise her.

Lucifer's tense expression loosens up a bit. He walks behind the bar, and she hears the crunch of glass under his feet. She can smell the odor of liquor from where she stands. But he smiles, looking down at the mess.

"You're smiling," Chloe says.

"I am. This can be cleaned up tomorrow. The bottles can be replaced from the stores in the basement." He comes around the end of the bar, heading for the elevator again. "Now for the penthouse."

The first thing Chloe notices when they reach the penthouse is the smell. In the closed-in space, the scent of liquor is pervasive and all-encompassing. The entire contents of the shelves lie on the floor, most smashed.

The bookshelves have been emptied; only a few stragglers remain. Floor-lamps have been toppled. The piano has rolled to the side of the room near the bedroom.

The lights blink off again. Then they come back on.

Lucifer walks into the mess behind the bar, retrieving an intact bottle. Somehow he finds two glasses that escaped the quake and pours them drinks.

"None for me," Chloe says. "I still have to drive home."

The power cuts out, and this time it seems to be for good. The only illumination comes from the lights in the city below. Chloe blinks in the sudden darkness.

"One moment, darling. I have candles." There's the crunch of broken glass again, and then the sound of cupboard doors opening and closing. Finally, he finds what he's looking for, and his lighter sparks into flame. He lights a candle, pressing it into a holder with a little flourish.

"Better?" he asks.

"Yeah. Thanks." She checks the time. 3:30 a.m. She turns reflexively toward the elevator, ready to leave for the night, then realizes that, without power, it won't work.

Shit.

The stairs are an option, but as tired as she is, they don't seem like a very good one. She turns back to Lucifer, walking over to him, and picks up the glass he'd poured for her.

"Can I crash on your couch tonight?"

"Of course not."

She pauses with the glass half-way to her mouth.

"You'll take the bed; I'll take the couch," he says.

"Lucifer, I'm not letting you sleep on the couch."

"And I can't let you sleep anywhere but the bed."

She takes a gulp of the … whatever it is he poured. It goes down more smoothly than it has any right to, much smoother than bad Jim Beam. She needs the liquid courage for what she says next.

"It's a big bed. We can share."

He blinks. Actually blinks.

"Are you certain, Detective?"

Another swallow of liquor. It's not him she's worried about.

"We're adults. I think we can sleep in the same bed." She doesn't add _and keep our hands off each other_ because she's not sure if she can. She finishes her drink.

"Very well." He hesitates. His eyes are black pools in the low light. If he has any inkling of what she's thinking, he doesn't show it. He's being a perfect gentleman. "Would you … I seem to remember you having a fondness for my shirts."

She pulls her lower lip between her teeth. Does she want to wear one of his shirts to bed?

"Yes, please," she manages to say.

He steps off into the darkness, and after a moment, she picks up the candle and follows him. He comes out of the closet as she walks up the two stairs to the bedroom.

"Here you are," he says, handing her a shirt that's either white or pale blue; it's hard to tell in the candlelight.

She goes to the bathroom to change, folding her clothes, leaving them in a neat pile on the counter. Pulling the shirt on, she luxuriates in the feeling of the fine cloth against her skin. One of Lucifer's shirts, that's been against _his_ skin. Suddenly she's jealous of a piece of clothing. She checks her reflection in the mirror. She likes the way his shirt looks on her.

A yawn catches her off-guard. It must be nearing four. She'd like to get a few hours of sleep before she has to go in for the day.

She walks out to the bedroom and then the living room, looking for Lucifer. He's outside on the balcony, a dark silhouette against the light provided by the city.

"Lucifer?" she says. "I'm going to go to bed."

He turns so she can see his profile.

"Very well, Detective. Sleep well."

"You're not coming?"

It says something—she's not sure what, exactly—about his mental state that he doesn't tease her about her question.

"In a bit. I don't require as much sleep as you do." The _you humans_ is implied.

She nods, walking back to the bedroom, folding down the covers on the bed. The sheets are as divinely soft as she remembers. She slips between them with a sigh of pleasure. Her head hits the pillow, and she's asleep within moments.

She wakes sometime later, how much later she isn't sure, but the sky outside has started to lighten. Lucifer is in bed with her, sleeping. His eyelashes are soft fans over his skin. His hair curls onto his forehead. The covers have slipped down, exposing his shoulders and chest. He sleeps with one hand outstretched toward her.

Chloe reaches out with her hand until she's almost brushing her fingertips against his. Then she closes her eyes and falls asleep once more.


End file.
